#yurchak

The second chapter of my dissertation is on nostalgia. I have been conducing a bit of research on nostalgia in my previous studies, and in particular, in my manuscript Debris of Utopia. I opened it to take notes on my notes and perhaps use something in my dissertation. Debris of Utopia and my dissertation have been functioning like a small system of connected retorts.

Political - socially acceptable to be nostalgic for the Soviet times, as opposed (at least recently) to the Nazi nostalgia. And it is understandable: Soviet project was a project for the world that still has its appeal.

Nostalgia for the Soviet times is not nostalgia for the Soviet times but a meta-nostalgia, nostalgia for nostalgia: "I sometimes think that what one deals with in the post-Soviet spaces is the sedimentation of ruins, the rubble that left from the ruins of the Soviet constructions and infrastructure: not with ruins as such but rather with ruins of ruins. And the affect that they bring is, in fact, not nostalgia but rather the meta-nostalgia: a nostalgia for the nostalgia. While nostalgia is an experience of longing for something that may or may not have been there, the meta-nostalgia is longing for the purity of this experience. But the always-already-polluted can only dream of purity."

Ruins produce nostalgia: "Ruins are generative in terms of affect, producing nostalgia and melancholy, and also creating lacunae of experimental social / bodily explorations and not-always-legal or simply frowned-upon usages."

Nostalgia is acute: "Gazing at ruins and exploitation of ruins is pleasurable, and the nature of this pleasure is complex, from purely distanced aestheticized savoring of the “elegiac elegance” of ruins to the more acute feelings of nostalgia and loss. Yet Soviet ruins, I tend to forget, ascribing my own sensitivities of a native observer to others, are foreign to the Western reader. Rann suggests Soviet ruins are attractive for a Westerner because communist iconography, refined and redefined, stripped from its threatening meaning, is a veritable succession of images of a dissolved empire: “Russia and eastern Europe serves as an imaginary space in which western nations can play out their own crises of identity, without having to confront them directly” (Rann, 2014). In other words, Russian ruins serve as a mirror of a polished shield looking at which Perseus does not risk to be blinded by the Medusa Gorgon’s exterminating sights."

Nostalgia is mythology-producing: "Similarly, it is too compelling to announce the Soviet past to be the past and to  overlook the summoning of this past conducted most notably by the state in contemporary  Russia, to say that whatever is happening now is something entirely different from the past.  The USSR’s was a revealing collapse. It still is. This existence in the non-existence of the  Soviet Union is still so painfully evident in a multiplicity of manifestations as perhaps its very  presence wasn’t. The collapse of the USSR has started, and it is not near the end of its  unfolding. Like the collapse of the Roman empire, it will reverberate through the centuries.  Not surprisingly, therefore, not only the empire is thought and described in dualistic terms,  but that it is also likely to evoke the sense of nostalgia in the observers. The sense of  nostalgia is going to be purified by those invoking it until it reaches that ideal vision of  empire which is entirely fictitious, mythological, and also mythology-producing. "The unexpected and the unsurprising" merged in the collapse of the USSR, according  to Yurchak (282). But for whom was it unsurprising? Surely for many people, as Yurchak  himself attests, the end of the Soviet Union was the personal tragedy. There was a lot of the  staggering—not just the surprising before, during, and after the collapse. In “Conclusion,”  Yurchak writes: “This book began with a paradox: the spectacular collapse of the Soviet  Union was completely unexpected by most Soviet people and yet,…most of them also  immediately realized that they had actually been prepared for that unexpected collapse.”  (Ibid). But is this such a paradox? People seemingly smoothly went on with their daily lives.  What else was or is there to do? Is it not what "always" happens in the times of significant  transformations and social changes? Who can, goes on, and who cannot, does not. The  latter might look quite differently. People could depart for the inner emigration and engage  into escapism, find for themselves enclaves where the life goes on as if nothing happened,  and people could die. While many didn’t die, many did. While in some regions the collapse  went (seemingly) smoothly, in others there erupted wars and military conflicts, often with  ethnic component and civil wars: Transnistria, Nagorno-Karabakh, Abkhazia, South Ossetia,  Tajikistan. Many-years Chechen wars and the currently unfolding hybrid war between Russia  and Ukraine is the consequences and the continuation of the collapse."

Nostalgia is “sentimental” in Etkind's reading (somewhat tautologically): "Alexander Etkind writes about the affective register of the “high Soviet period” that he defined as stretching from 1928-1953, overshadowed by the common knowledge and reluctance, impossibility to speak about gulag, as the atmosphere of “coercion, violence, and angrst,” which resulted in the “complex of feelings—fear, bewilderment, resentment, compassion, and mournfulness.” (Etkind, 2013, 30). For those who grew up in the Soviet republics which were on the subaltern position towards Russia, the mixture includes “political guilt, sentimental nostalgia, and apocalyptic mindset” (Ibid, 33). Etkind derives this formula from the analysis of Grossman’s novel Everything Flows, the protagonist in which recalls his childhood memories unfolding in the Caucasus, the land subjected to colonization by the imperial Russia and the enduring colonial practices during the Soviet time and beyond. I spent summers of my childhood in Ukraine, the country in many grievous entanglements with Russia; Summers here are about it. These feelings are familiar, but the affect that I lived are different. As much as guilt was present, there was denial."

I do not have nostalgic feelings about school: "Nostalgia is likely to emerge in connection to the memories of childhood, school years, family time, the blessed bygone are when our parents were young, the world was bigger, felt fresh, and trees were huge1. But I do not have any nostalgic feelings in connection to school."

Allegiance to nostalgia: "At the end of the Soviet times, young critics of Communism refused to wear ties. I, to the contrary, had been wearing my tie for longer than anyone else in class, longer than it was appropriate. Even teachers squinted at it, annoyed. It was my inverted resistance, directed, for some reason, at the new fashions, rather than past injustices. And, I think, it was my first pledge of allegiance to the all-encompassing, eternal nostalgia."

To evoke your nostalgia by describing my nostalgia is my goal: "Soviet nostalgia, Stalinist nostalgia, Mao nostalgia, and recently not admitted to the public spaces Nazi nostalgia, which seems to resurge, all coincide in the feeling: Life was far better during the past regime. You might have been killed but you were young; after all, you still might be killed, but you are no longer young. A collection of fleeting glances and interrupted shadows that I file, catalog, and number for my and, hopefully, your amusement, dear reader, is, for sure, endless. There is always something to elaborate upon, something to add, and something to retract. The politics of revocations and additions is complex. A non-intentionality of this phenomenological project is absolute and exceeds itself. I am trying to convey the value of valueless objects, a preciousness of things that are nothing in your eyes. Things are just present; they do not necessarily do anything except for making you understand me. I was swung in the cradle of ruins; I fetched debris out of the nonexistent and the unimportant. For an observer. All I want is to make you love my debris the way I loved it. My only intent is to contaminate your vision, to communicate the bittersweet disease of nostalgia for the world you did not know. To express longing for a never-existed past, for a number of glimmering pasts, in fact, contesting pasts which hint at the tournament of the futures. I want the world to conflagrate my slow exitless burning. I was born at the Parthenon of the Soviet civilization. I am an absolute cosmonaut, suspended in space, surviving the cosmic shipwreck. Hence the method: I do not document that much or situate it in any context, as I create an affective feel."

The work of nostalgia is transformative: "My mother and her friend’s braids, their heels, their modest chintz dresses add to my vision of Maidan Nezalezhnosti. This is the work of nostalgia transforming things and adding the second dimension to the reality."

Nostalgia is sickness: "With the social transformations that begin with the goal of ultimate obliteration of previously existing social relations and structures, many things die leaving next to no trace, which partly accounts for the severe forms of nostalgia for the Soviet times. Such nostalgia bears the semblance of homesickness, since a former Soviet citizen, never mind her allegiances, is displaced even having never transgressed the borders of the country. She did not go anywhere; instead, the borders in one moment trembled and shifted under her feet. One day hundreds of thousands of Russians found themselves living abroad without moving, and everyone had awakened in a different country altogether."

Apart from the nostalgia for the USSR, there is a wide-spread nostalgia in Russia for the 1990s, the time of social transformation:  "Many of those who were young during the 1990s, recollect the time with nostalgia and regret, others, with horror or simply grudgingly, but most remember gazillions of details comprising the zeitgeist."

Ostalgie:  "Oustalgie can refer to different aspects of Soviet experiences not only pertaining to the East Germany but to the former Soviet space in general."

Indulging in nostalgia is a method: "Indulging in nostalgia might become a method of understanding it—all the more alluring since it is predetermined to be imprecise. Ruins do not offer the full story, only hint at it and thus allow the observer to inhabit it, “to experience historicity affectively, as an atmosphere” (Boym, 2001, 15)."

Pages 152-158 devoted to nostalgia.

Then "nostalgia" largely disappears, although does a work because it is used to classify things along the lines of what they trigger: "Nostalgia is easily triggered by taste, smell, memory of disappeared texture (hand cream). From Proust’s famous madeleines, the connection of the taste and memory has been well established: "She set out for one of those short, plump little cakes called 'petites madeleines,' which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted scallop of a pilgrim's shell. And soon, mechanically, weary after a dull day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid, and the crumbs with it, touched my palate than a shudder ran through my whole body, and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary changed that were taking place." (Proust, Swann’s Way, 2012, page number)"

Caitlin's nostalgia: "My colleague Caitlin once remarked that during her fieldwork in Lebanon she could not even begin smelling the lemon trees, and I was greatly surprised: “How so? One could not choose, usually, whether to smell or not.” Olfactory sensations impose themselves on the preceptor. “But I mean, for someone it would be easy,” she replied. “Someone would say, maybe, ‘My grandma had lemon trees in her garden,’ but not I. My grandma did not have lemon trees, you know. That’s why when I was talking with that woman, and she was sharing with me her nostalgia, all the evocations that lemon trees had to her, I was not going along. She was only two years older than me and could not possibly remember the civil war in Lebanon; it was imprinted upon her, along with the lemon trees’ smell. I found it was hard to situate myself in the same mode evoked just by the lemon trees.”..."I was failing to be in this nostalgia with her.” Caitlin explained."

Nostalgia is evoked by audio and sound: "Nostalgia is triggered and propagated by the audio, by sound. Alexei Yurchak describes how compact radio transmitters brought to life new socialities deterritorializing the grand Soviet narrative (Yurchak, 2006, page numbers)."

We can make ourselves experience nostalgia: "Nostalgia is a reenactment, a reproduction of scenes that have been repeating. Nostalgia could be spontaneous, but it could also be deliberate. One sets herself out for the pleasant and poignant experience of recollection, and the listener signed themselves in to be reminded or enlightened, by virtue of being present with their cup of coffee with petals."

Photography is one of those technologies that reproduce nostalgia: "If the music, being a sound, and not unlike taste or texture, store nostalgia, if everyday technologies and the yesteryear technological advancements that rapidly go out of circulation can produce nostalgia, photography will be one of these technologies."

Family photography perhaps more than other types of photography has a potential to evoke nostalgia: "Perhaps Soviet family photographs will communicate to the attentive observer something about photographs in general, as well as about nostalgia, the imperial, the ephemeral, and the empyrean."

Nostalgia can be a powerful market motivator: "As if playing this game or possessing the object today would have given the former player or owner the sense of the days of childhood perhaps returning. All too often the first urge upon recollection of something long gone is to seek reacquisition. That’s why nostalgia is not only a feeling, a state of mind, or complex affect, but it can be a powerful market motivator."

Nostalgia turns terrible things into great memories: "Nostalgia turns terrible things into great memories."

Digital nostalgia (not a developed concept).

Nostalgia can be exploited by the state and by the agents active on the market: "Doubtlessly, Longing for Sleep project is not the only project exploiting the nostalgia for the Soviet times, debris “too worthless to plunger” (Brown, 2015) reframed as “another man’s treasure” are everywhere you look. (Examples include Crêpe De Chine and Georgette crepe “vintage-looking” fabric patterned in the Soviet style—in huge wide-branching flowers; ice cream rebranded as the “Soviet plombir (ice cream) sold in Russia and beyond, and something else perhaps I could use here.) All of it shows that nostalgia is the good to be sold, that nostalgia is turnable into money; it is able to bring revenue, and generate different communities, be it a huge and hard to define community of the “Soviet ice cream” eaters, or a refined little community of the former Soviet blankets’ wearers."

Nostalgia comes in surges: "Some two years before that, in one particularly unbearable surge of nostalgia, I searched the Internet for this lamp and found it, to my amazement, for sale on eBay."

Another two pages on nostalgia: 248-249

Of nuclear threat and its now almost-nostalgic affect: "What once was disturbing becomes merely nostalgia-inducing even if the threat itself did not vanish."

The post-Soviet nostalgia is syncretic: ). "In 2015, in Moscow people spotted (and there was a news item about it) that the high-school graduates sported the Soviet-school-style dresses, but the aprons were cut into the dresses. No way to take the apron off. It appeared to me that there was something symbolic about it: the apron as a part of the dress was a perfect metaphor for the Soviet nostalgia: it combined the previously familiar elements into the totally new whole, the order of things was rearranged the way it has not worked before. The syncretic nature of the Soviet nostalgia was thus revealed. One thing that does not belong attached to another, centaurus hybridized with griffin, the deer wearing the cherry tree for antlers, Stalin framed as a Christian saint, use the German photographs to illustrate the narrative about the heroism of the Red Army, and all of it for the purposes of reaching the authentic is, evidently, the common principle of the plastic restoration, the imperial nostalgia that does not really want the past restored, but merely toys with some of its aesthetic elements the meaning of which it nonetheless discounts and to the separate existence of which it refuses to attend."

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The term that was often used in Russian for these practices was obshchenie, simultaneously denoting inter-communication, communality, and spending time together. Literary scholars Petr Vail and Alexandr Genis wrote about obshchenie in the 1960s, relating it to practices on the margins of the official public sphere. In other accounts from the 1980s, obshchenie was described as a substitute for religion and portrayed as the only valuable way of existence that defined all other spheres and meanings. Several authors writing retrospectively about the late Soviet period have emphasised the correlation of domestic interiors and the personal interiority that was communicated to the circle of friends. For example, Svetlana Boym wrote about alternative communality (kommunalnoe obshchenie) that was established in shared apartments in the post-Stalin years. She further described a specific culture emerging from the 1960s onwards in the tiny kitchens of the newly erected mass housing, that provided places for the most confidential or unrestricted conversations: ‘The most important issues were discussed in the overcrowded kitchen, where people “really talked” […] The kitchen provided a perfect informal setting for the subtle, casual but friendly intimacy that became a signature of that generation.’ 

From here anthropologist Alexei Yurhak described obshchenie as a characteristic trait of a late Soviet spatiality that he called a ‘deterritorialised milieu’, existing neither inside nor outside the dominant system while reinterpreting and appropriating the official language and culture. Indeed, for Yurchak, the intimate commonality and intersubjectivity of obshchenie was a performative genre that continuously reproduced this milieu: 

The noun obshchenie has the same root as obshchii (common) and obshchina (commune), stressing in the process of interaction not the exchange between individuals but the communal space where everyone’s personhood was dialogized to produce a common intersubjective sociality. Obshchenie, therefore, is both a process and a sociality that emerges in that process, and both an exchange of ideas and information as well as a space of affect and togetherness.

Obshchenie was thus a general name that could characterise a relaxed chatting with friends, an intense exchange of nonconformist ideas among writers or artists, or sitting around a table in a good company and freely exchanging thoughts without the pressure of fitting to the dominant ideological doctrine. 

In recent years authors have also spoken of nostalgia for obshchenie in the postSoviet situation in Russia. Overlooking the social difficulties of the late Soviet period, fans of the rock music of that period look for rare recordings and reconstruct the hangouts of the time ‘as if trying to regain obshchenie’.